


4 Times Jaskier Needed Comforting...

by Rose_SK



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Past Abuse, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:07:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22923835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_SK/pseuds/Rose_SK
Summary: ... and one time he became the comforter.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 517





	4 Times Jaskier Needed Comforting...

**Author's Note:**

> I took me five days to complete this with everything going on right now, but I finished it and I like it! Hope you guys do too.

**1.**

Jaskier wanted nothing more than to go back to the inn and leave this awful party, which in itself was strange because Jaskier loved parties. They allowed him to show off his talent and his newest creations. Jaskier loved feeling people’s eyes on him, seeing their smiles and the way their eyes twinkled with uninhibited joy or unshed tears, whichever emotions were brought forward by his poetry and songs. Even when Jaskier did not perform himself, he loved being able to dance and drink without a care in the world, occasionally flirting with his dance partners – old habits die hard, and since Geralt was usually an old grump at parties, Jaskier had no other choice than to find someone else willing to dance with him. Geralt did not always appreciate the sight of his bard at the arm of another, but Jaskier always made it up to him afterwards.

Maybe it was the fact that Geralt rarely interacted with anyone, or perhaps because the witcher was always too focused on making sure that Jaskier did not get himself into any trouble, but the more the bard thought about it, the more he realised that Geralt rarely gave him any reasons to be jealous. Which may or may not explain why he had instantly felt jealous when he saw Yennefer enter the room, diverting everyone’s attention to her – including Geralt’s.

Jaskier knew that green was not a flattering colour on him but seeing the deceitful sorceress eye Geralt hungrily from the other side of the room did things to the bard. Considering Geralt and Yennefer’s history, Jaskier had every reason in the world to be worried. The memory of Yennefer riding Geralt after the witcher heroically delivered her from the djinn was engraved on Jaskier’s mind, and although he and Geralt had since then created many more dirty memories that would put a blush on Yennefer’s face, the thought that _his_ witcher’s cock was once buried in her filled Jaskier with rage.

The fact that Yennefer was all but throwing herself at Geralt while making direct eye contact with Jaskier only fuelled his ire.

“Geralt, there you are,” Jaskier announced loudly as he headed towards Geralt and Yennefer, glaring at the sorceress for good measure. Yennefer seemed unaffected by the rude interruption if the smirk on her face was anything to go by. Geralt, on the other hand, looked smug and even amused by Jaskier’s actions.

“Jaskier, Yennefer was just speaking about you,” said Geralt, a hint of a smile on his handsome face that caused the butterflies in Jaskier’s stomach go wild. Damn Geralt and that cursed smile. No doubt the witcher knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on the bard.

“I’m sure she was,” Jaskier said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, “Hello, Yennefer. As much as we would love to stay for a chat, Geralt and I need to be up early tomorrow. Monsters to slay, and the ballads singing of his prowess aren’t going to write themselves. Pleasure to see you, as always, now come on Geralt let’s go.”

Jaskier tugged at the sleeve of Geralt’s tunic and fully expected the witcher to allow himself to be dragged away from the party and Yennefer’s side, but the bard should have known better.

“There’s no rush at all, Jaskier,” Geralt declared, standing his ground firmly with an impish glint dancing in the amber eyes. Jaskier recognised that look. It was the same look Geralt had when he decided to tease Jaskier in the bedroom. The cocky bastard enjoyed Jaskier’s jealous display and wanted to make it last.

Bastard! He was going to pay for that.

“Well, I can feel a headache coming on, so sorry to cut your evening short, but I think we really ought to go.”

“You go, I’ll join you later,” Geralt suggested, the smirk on his face growing the more flustered Jaskier was getting. The witcher cocked his head to the side and watched as the bard got himself worked up trying to think of a sassy comeback. The way Yennefer twisted her lip in a derisive grimace made Jaskier’s blood boil. _Oh, wouldn’t you just love to be left alone with my Geralt…_

But perhaps, that’s what Geralt wanted too. The thought made Jaskier pause, and suddenly all the rage he had felt towards Yennefer was replaced by a crippling insecurity. Her luscious dark locks framed her beautiful face and contrasted with the alabaster skin, making the violent irises pop out and shine bright with the fervour of a thousand stars. Her curves were a poet’s muse, and the way her dress hugged her body perfectly and showed off her flattering cleavage would have put any woman to shame. How could Geralt not fall head over heels for someone like Yennefer?

Jaskier was not stupid, and he knew when he was faced with a much worthier opponent. He felt a lump form in his throat as he quietly excused himself, turning his back on a pleased Yennefer and a confused Geralt. He felt the weight of the witcher’s eyes on him as he walked out, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. He rushed back to the inn he and Geralt had planned on staying in for the night. All Jaskier felt like doing was wrap himself up in the far too thin sheets and cry himself to sleep. He felt pathetic like a lovesick puppy, but he could not care any less if he tried.

Yennefer would always win. She would always have the upper hand on Geralt’s heart. Jaskier had been foolish to ever think otherwise. The bard fell asleep to the dreaded memory of Yennefer and Geralt having sex in the mayor’s house in Chireadan. He was woken several hours later when he felt the bed shift under the weight of someone climbing into it. Jaskier’s initial reaction was to freeze in fear, thinking that someone had broken into the room with the aim of robbing what little possessions he and Geralt had taken upstairs with them. Only when the familiar smell of Geralt’s sandalwood bath oil mingled with the odour of sweat and cheap ale hit his nostrils did Jaskier relax.

“Geralt?”

“Shh,” was all the witcher said in response as he climbed into bed with Jaskier, pressing his naked chest to the bard’s back and wrapping a strong arm around his waist. Geralt pulled Jaskier close, nuzzling the spot just behind the bard’s ear before placing a soft kiss on the nape of his neck. Jaskier could not hold back the shiver that travelled along his spine at the feeling of Geralt’s lips on his skin.

“Mmmh,” Jaskier crooned as he instinctively pressed closer against Geralt’s warm body, “did you and Yennefer have fun?”

The words had been spoken with such venom that Jaskier could feel Geralt flinch behind him.

“Hush, bard. You know that there is no one but you.”

“Could’ve fooled me tonight. You seemed to love the attention the wicked witch was giving you,” Jaskier argued in an accusatory tone. Geralt let out an irritated sigh.

“Now you know how I feel when I see you in the arms of other men or talking sweet to other women at those parties you drag me to. I was just giving you a taste of your own medicine.”

Jaskier suddenly felt very foolish. Geralt, realising he had won the argument, tried to soften the blow by placing feather-like kisses on Jaskier’s neck, allowing his hands to roam over the bard’s muscular chest. Jaskier shivered as the witcher’s fingers traced Jaskier’s ribs tenderly, and Geralt even managed to pull a wanton moan from his bard when he gently grazed Jaskier’s shoulder with his teeth.

“You’re so beautiful like this, Jask… so willing,” Geralt wrapped a large hand around Jaskier’s cock and began stroking it lazily as he spoke, “so eager for my touch. I loved seeing you so possessive tonight. You looked ready to pounce on Yennefer and gouge her eyes out with a spoon. I have to say, I am flattered.”

“Damn you to hell, Geralt!” Jaskier cursed under his breath, feeling his member harden under Geralt’s actions.

“Want me to stop?” Geralt rasped in the bard’s ear, earning himself a desperate mewl.

“Gods, never stop.”

**2.**

Jaskier woke up with a start, covered in a fine sheen of sweat and panting heavily. It took him several seconds to realise where he was. The campfire had died down through the night, the trees surrounding him were moving gently with the wind. The cold air hit Jaskier’s flushed skin and chilled him to the bone. The bard looked around him frantically, searching for Geralt. Panic seized him when he could not see the witcher anywhere.

“Geralt?” Jaskier called out, his breath hitching as the wind picked up around him. His heart was racing in his chest as the memory of his nightmare hit him. Not so much a nightmare than the memory of Geralt leaving him. _If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands_. Jaskier felt his entire body shake, whether because of the overwhelming panic or the cold wind, the bard could not be sure.

“Geralt?”

There was still no sign of the witcher, which had Jaskier believe that perhaps he and Geralt had never crossed paths again. Maybe Geralt finding his way back to him and apologising for his conduct, and the relationship they had inadvertently fallen into as a consequence, had all been a cruel fabrication of his mind. Jaskier was finding it increasingly hard to breathe, and Geralt’s name died on his lips as he desperately tried to get some air into his lungs.

“Jaskier, what the fuck is going on?”

Geralt! Geralt had come back. Jaskier’s eyes eventually landed on the witcher, who was staring at him with evident worry reflected in his eyes. Geralt crouched next to Jaskier and cupped the bard’s face urgently in his large hands. The witcher’s eyes sought Jaskier’s and stared at him with such concern that it made the bard want to burst into tears. Geralt was there. There to stay.

“I thought… I thought you were gone, I…”

“I’m here, Jask,” Geralt assured him, his tone soft yet firm, “I’m here.”

“Never leave me again, Geralt. I’m begging you.”

“Hush now.”

Jaskier closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Geralt’s, enjoying the proximity and the feeling of Geralt’s hot breath hitting his face with each exhale. The witcher indulged the bard’s need for closeness, going as far as slipping under the covers with Jaskier and letting him use Geralt as a human pillow. Satisfied that Geralt was not going anywhere tonight, Jaskier fell asleep until morning while the witcher watched over his sleep.

**3.**

“Ah, Novigrad. Don’t you just love coming back here, Geralt?” Jaskier asked as he took in his surroundings. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he and Geralt entered the haven that was Novigrad. Jaskier closed his eyes and breathed in the cacophony of smells coming from the market. His nostrils were invaded by the contrasting scents of baked goods, mingled with the pungent smell of freshly caught fish and the horse shit. Merchants were shouting out their prices, trying to lure in buyers, while women fought over the best loaves and children screamed in barely contained glee as they ran around the market stalls, playing catch or hide and seek. Novigrad was always full of colour and life, which was why Jaskier loved coming to the city. It reminded him of simpler times as a student in the nearby Oxenfurt. He had performed and earned his first coin in Novigrad. He would always remember the man who had tossed it at him. A short, jolly-faced man with a thick moustache, and clothes made from the finest materials Jaskier had ever seen. A banker, Jaskier remembered thinking to himself at the time.

“There’s worse places to come back to I guess,” the witcher agreed, keeping Roach close to him as they walked towards the Seven Cats Inn where they would be staying for several nights. Geralt’s last monster hunt had taken a toll on him and so he had reluctantly agreed to stay in Novigrad for a couple of nights to allow his body to heal fully. Despite the witcher trying to convince Jaskier that he would be fine, the bard would not take no for an answer. Geralt had never been able to refuse Jaskier anything.

“Don’t be such a grump, Geralt. I can’t wait for a hot meal and a cold ale. When was the last time we slept in an actual bed? It feels like an eternity.”

“Two weeks ago, in a small village in Redania,” Geralt supplied, his cat-like eyes scanning the area for any potential danger. Force of habit. Jaskier knew how difficult it was for the witcher to let his guard down fully.

“Like I said, an eternity. Ah, there we go. The Seven Cats Inn. As welcoming as I remember it to be. Come now, Roach, let’s find you a nice spot where you can feast on all the hay your heart desires.”

“She’ll feast on as much hay our purses can afford,” said Geralt, but Jaskier ignored the witcher’s comment as he pried Roach’s reins from his hands and headed towards the stables with her. To say that Geralt never let Jaskier near her, the mare was surprisingly tame around Jaskier. The bard always did have a way with animals. He remembered taking care of the stray cats back when he was a young boy living in his family’s country house. Jaskier had been taught from a young age to ride horses, but the stable boys usually tended to the horses’ wellbeing. With Roach, Jaskier took great pleasure in grooming her and making sure she was as comfortable as physically possible. The mare had yet to voice a complaint.

Once Roach had been taken care of, Geralt and Jaskier stepped inside the inn and ordered two hot meals and two tankards of ale. Some guests shot them disdainful looks, while others whispered excitedly among themselves. Jaskier heard the name Geralt of Rivia drop several times, and if Geralt was aware of this he did a good job at ignoring the hushed murmurs. It did not take long for a bar maid to bring their food to the table. Jaskier’s stomach made an inhuman noise as the smell of beef stew filled his nostrils, and even Geralt looked eager to get started. Jaskier asked for some extra bread before digging in. The beef seemed to melt on his tongue, pulling a delighted moan from Jaskier as he savoured every bite. This was by far the best beef stew he had eaten in a while. Judging by how quickly Geralt had wolfed down his meal, the witcher agreed.

“Julian, is that truly you?”

Jaskier tensed at the mention of his birth name. He had not used this name in many, many years. In fact, he was not entirely convinced Geralt was aware that his name was not Jaskier. The bard looked up from his plate at a man who seemed vaguely familiar, but whose name had seemingly evaded Jaskier’s mind.

“Come now boy, don’t you remember me? Frederick of Hellendorf. Your father and I knew each other well. You would often visit us in the summer when you were but a young boy.”

Jaskier recalled a man named Frederick, but the man before him did not fit the memory of the lanky baron with thick blonde locks any longer. The years had clearly not been kind to Frederick, who was now balding, sporting an impressive beer belly and missing several teeth. Jaskier smiled politely, unsure where to take the conversation from there.

“Of course, Frederick. You owned that beautiful black stallion, did you not?”

That had, of course, been a complete shot in the dark, but judging by the wide smile on the other man’s face, Jaskier’s bluff had paid off.

“Yes, you always wanted to ride that horse, but your father wouldn’t let you. Good man he was, your father. Whatever became of him?”

“Oh, you know. He retired and lived his years away from everyone in our family’s country house,” Jaskier said, hoping Frederick would buy his lie. Truth be told, the last time the bard had heard from his father had been just before he set off for Oxenfurt. The less he thought about his father, the better. Frederick only seemed to notice Geralt sitting opposite Jaskier and he addressed the witcher with a confused frown on his face.

“My, my, if it isn’t the famed witcher of Rivia. Geralt, am I right? I have heard many songs about you. In my time, it was rare to sight a witcher, but times have changed. Now you see them at every corner.”

“Mostly charlatans,” Geralt supplied, “our numbers are decreasing, yet some people are posing as witchers to rob people of their coin.”

“Truly? Well, it’s probably for the best that there aren’t as many of you left. Will spare many young boys a painful fate. But Julian, what are you doing travelling with witchers?”

“What can I say, I was craving some adventure in my life.”

“I’m not surprised, my boy. You were always one for mischief. Would get yourself lost in the woods, and your father and I had to go looking for you on horseback. Never seen the man so worried in his life.”

Somehow, Jaskier doubted that his father had ever displayed worry at Jaskier’s expense. Irritation, anger, frustration, but worry? The man never cared enough about anyone but himself to feel anything other than disdain for his only son. Jaskier did not remember his father fondly, and the little memories he had preserved from his childhood he wished he could forget. Frederick had never seen that side of his father, but then again who apart from Jaskier had?

“Well my boy, it was a pleasure, but I need to head. The wife won’t be too pleased to know I lingered in this cursed tavern for too long. So long, Julian. May the gods protect you on your travels.”

“And may they be kind to you, too, Frederick.”

When the undesirable guest disappeared from view, Jaskier let out a breath he did not know he was holding. Suddenly, his dinner felt heavy on his stomach and the bard felt slightly nauseous. He did not hear Geralt calling his name until the witcher clicked his fingers at him to catch his attention.

“Care to explain what that was all about?”

“What’s there to explain? Just an old acquaintance. Shall we go see about a room?” Jaskier tried to change the topic, but Geralt was neither a fool nor was he easily dissuaded.

“Jaskier, what’s going on? You look pale. Like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost per se, but let’s just say I was reminded of a part of my life I would much rather forget.”

Geralt did not look satisfied with Jaskier’s answer, nor convinced, but thankfully he let it go long enough for Jaskier to disappear to the bar and ask about a room for three nights. He paid the full amount up front and ignored the disgusted look the innkeeper shot him and Geralt as both men headed upstairs to their shared room. Jaskier was used to the looks, and he did not care so long as people left him and Geralt be. To hell with their judgements.

“What was so unpleasant about your life back then?” Geralt asked as soon as they were in the room. Jaskier sighed dramatically.

“We were having such a nice time, Geralt, must you ruin it?”

“By the looks of things, that Frederick already took care of that. The last time I saw you this downtrodden was when…,” Geralt left the rest of his sentence hanging in the air between them, but Jaskier knew exactly which event the witcher was refraining to bring up.

“Yeah, well the memory of my childhood is about as painful as the memory of you leaving. So best not mention it.

Geralt stared at Jaskier silently as the bard unpacked the essentials from his bag. Unable to face Geralt’s questions quite yet, Jaskier sat down at the edge of the bed, notepad in one hand and lute resting on his knees to at least appear like he was trying to compose a new song. Truth be told, all desire to sing had vanished with the unpleasant memories of his father triggered by Frederick’s visit.

“Your father, he did not approve of your life choices, did he?” Geralt asked bluntly, pulling a humourless snort from Jaskier.

“Yeah, you could say that I guess.”

“There’s more,” Geralt stated more than enquired. Jaskier tensed at those words, his jaw tightening uncomfortably. His hands balled into fists as he fought the tears of anger welling up in his eyes. Why was it still so difficult to talk about everything decades later? Why did his father still hold such power over him?

“Why won’t you just let this go, Geralt?”

“Because I recognise the look of a man who lives in the shadow of his own past. You can tell me, Jaskier. I won’t judge.” Geralt’s tone was kind, even soft, but in his present state of mind, Jaskier took it as patronising and pitiful. The bard did not care for it in the least.

“He beat me. Often. Every day. Every little mistake was punished by a slap to the face, or a good beating with his favourite belt. I was the future Baron of Lettenhove, and I had to act like it. Anything else was simply not good enough. The beating hurt, but nothing cut as deep as the insults. I do not hold my father in high esteem, and for all I know he may be dead now. The thought of his death fills me with neither joy nor sorrow. I don’t care what happened to him. I’m just glad that I managed to flee before it was too late.”

Jaskier plucked absent-mindedly at the strings of his lute as he tried to calm the storm of emotions raging in him. He thought he had tucked away these memories for good, in a dark part of his mind, where no one could ever access them not even himself. Geralt had this incredible talent to read Jaskier like an open book. Well, there he had it. Jaskier’s traumatic past. Who would have thought that this bard, always so joyful and full of life, had once been a scared little boy who would not dare step out of line for fear of suffering a harsh beating at his father’s hand? Things had changed, Jaskier had grown up. They did say that those who hurt the most smiled the brightest.

“I’m sorry.”

“Funny, everyone says that. Like you could have made a difference,” Jaskier said bitterly.

“Now I understand your fascination with monsters,” Geralt mused, “you grew up with one. You never could defeat that monster, so you sing about those who do.”

“Some monsters we will never be able to defeat. Some monsters stay with us forever.”

Jaskier felt Geralt place a strong hand on his shoulder and squeeze it in a comforting manner. Somehow, knowing that Geralt would always have his back made it easier to cope with the monsters in his head.

**4.**

Jaskier was woken up by Geralt groaning and muttering in his sleep. Jaskier was usually a very deep sleeper, nothing could wake him from his slumber once he wandered deep into the lands of dreams. However, there was one exception to this rule. Jaskier’s mind was always instantly alert when Geralt was having a bad night. The witcher rarely experienced nightmares, but when he did Jaskier was instantly alert in case Geralt woke up needing a distraction – sexual or otherwise. Geralt’s present muttering was mostly inaudible, but Jaskier thought he made out the name Visenna here and there. His mother’s name. Her name often fell when Geralt was having nightmares.

“You’re alright,” Jaskier whispered soothingly as he raked his fingers tenderly through Geralt’s greasy mane, “Geralt, wake up. You’re alright. Wake up.”

After muttering Visenna’s name several more times, Geralt shot up into a sitting position. He was panting heavily as he willed his heartbeat to slow down. The irritated groan that pushed past the witcher’s lips was not aimed at Jaskier, but more at himself for allowing his mind to conjure the memories of his mother. Jaskier merely sat still next to Geralt, allowing his lover some breathing space.

“Go back to sleep, Jaskier,” Geralt said after several silent minutes.

“Only if you join me.”

Jaskier could tell that Geralt wanted to argue with him, but to the bard’s surprise the witcher merely flopped back on his side of the bed and indulged Jaskier when the bard cuddled closer to him. Geralt did not return the embrace, but Jaskier could sense his frantic heartbeat growing steadier.

“Do you remember much about your mother?” Jaskier ventured to ask, wondering if Geralt would shut him down or plainly ignore him. The witcher did not reply instantly, and Jaskier thought that perhaps he was faking sleep to avoid his lover’s questioning.

“I remember the colour of her hair and the sound of her voice. That’s about it.”

Jaskier hummed pensively as he began tracing complicated patterns on Geralt’s chest with his fingers, extracting a contented sigh from the larger man.

“I don’t remember anything about mine,” Jaskier admitted softly, “nothing at all. She left when I was four years old. She saw an opportunity to escape my father, and she took it. He never spoke of her after that. I don’t even know if she ever loved me, or if she regrets leaving me behind.”

As Jaskier revealed this part of his life, he felt Geralt’s arm pull him closer to his side and a large hand squeeze his hip in a reassuring manner. Geralt was a man of very few words, but his actions spoke volumes. The gentle squeezing said _don’t worry, I’ll never leave you_ , and the lips pressed to his forehead promised that Geralt would never let anyone hurt Jaskier ever again.

“People linked by destiny will always find each other,” Geralt said cryptically, but Jaskier understood. And perhaps the witcher was right, but Jaskier found that he did not care if he ever saw his mother again. Geralt had become the single most important person in his life. Nothing else mattered to him. 

Both fell asleep in the comfort of each other’s arms.

**+1**

Geralt hated seeing Jaskier like this. Coughing his lungs out, eyes glassed over from the fever, shivering despite being covered in a fine sheen of sweat. As soon as Jaskier’s illness had manifested, Geralt had stopped at the nearest village and demanded to see a healer. Haley, a sorceress leaving near the village, accepted to help Jaskier and lodge Geralt as long as the bard was unwell. Geralt had paid for her services upfront, probably more than was strictly necessary, but the witcher did not care so long as she got Jaskier back on his feet again.

Jaskier was not showing any signs of improvement on the second day, which had Haley believe that perhaps there was an underlying condition that she had missed to diagnose. Geralt’s heart had dropped to his knees at the announcement.

In moment like these, Geralt became painfully aware of Jaskier’s mortality.

The thought of losing Jaskier was almost too much to stomach.

And yet, Geralt knew that he would outlive the bard. Jaskier was human, and as such he could expect to see eighty, perhaps ninety winters. Even then, those were exceptionally high numbers. Geralt would do anything in his power to ensure Jaskier had the best care in the world even in his advanced age, but his human body was bound to shut down at some point. Geralt tried not to think about this too much, however seeing Jaskier ill made it increasingly hard not to worry about what the future would bring them.

What would happen to Geralt once Jaskier passed?

He would mourn the bard of course, probably focus all his attention on finding contracts and killing monsters to distract him from the Jaskier’s absence. But even witchers needed rest, and Geralt dreaded sleeping in an empty bed knowing that he would never hear the sound of Jaskier’s obnoxious snores ever again, or have to wrestle him for the covers. It would feel wrong to replace Jaskier’s company with prostitutes or anyone else willing to share a bed with a witcher. It would tarnish Jaskier’s memory.

“You think too loud,” a croaky voice spoke to him, pulling Geralt out of his spiralling thoughts. The witcher’s eyes snapped up to look at Jaskier, who seemed somewhat alert and who even managed a soft smile in Geralt’s direction.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like death, to be honest.”

Jaskier could not have used a more unfortunate idiom to describe his present condition, and unbeknownst to the bard Geralt’s anxiety level spiked as he felt like his heart was breaking in a million. Geralt considered giving Jaskier one his own potions hoping that they would accelerate the healing process, but he knew that they were too powerful for humans and could kill Jaskier instantly. He would not take that risk. Not yet.

“Hey, Geralt look at me,” Jaskier demanded weakly, and Geralt instantly complied. He did not notice the tears that had collected at the corner of his eyes until Jaskier reached out to cup Geralt’s cheek tenderly. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, witcher.”

“Your condition has not improved since I brought you to the healer,” Geralt admitted.

“I feel fine, honestly.”

“You don’t look fine, Jaskier. I… I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” Jaskier asserted, his hand dropping to squeeze Geralt’s larger one. Despite the bard’s current disposition, his grip was still firm and that gave Geralt hope that Jaskier would be ok. “I’m in the right place, Geralt. I’ve been your burden for over two decades now, and I intend to do just that for at least another two.”

Geralt tried to find comfort in these words as he watched Jaskier sleep. Thankfully, Haley announced in the evening that the bard’s fever was finally breaking but recommended plenty of rest for at least another couple of days. For the first time since they had reached the village, Geralt allowed his own mind and body to rest, confident that Jaskier would live.

He woke up hours later, his entire body aching from sleeping in an awkward position hunched over in his chair, but the witcher felt relief wash over him at the sight of Jaskier sitting up in his bed and composing his next song.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Jaskier greeted him, his voice almost back to normal.

“Jaskier. You’re okay.”

“I am. Would you like some tea? This sorceress has the most amazing flavours, I can’t remember the last time tea tasted so invigorating. Perhaps the next time we’re in Novigrad I’ll have a look at the-“

Jaskier’s speech was interrupted by Geralt nearly throwing himself at him and crushing the bard against his chest, one large hand buried in the dark locks while the other rested on Jaskier’s lower back. The feeling of the bard’s warm body pressed against his own and the sound of his steady heartbeat relaxed Geralt. Jaskier was okay. Jaskier would live. Geralt was glad that he had learned a long time ago how to keep his feelings in check, or else he might have burst into tears on the spot.

“I’m okay, Geralt. I’m okay,” Jaskier confirmed almost as an afterthought.

“You are.”

“You don’t have to worry anymore,” Jaskier reassured him.

“I will always worry about you, Jaskier.”

Geralt did not know how long the two of them sat on the bed hugging each other close, but it did not matter so long as he knew that Jaskier would be okay.

THE END.


End file.
